


Just like me

by DracoEliyah



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Has Issues, Clint Barton Has Issues, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, can't sleep, sometimes you just need someone to be there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-11
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:35:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22207237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DracoEliyah/pseuds/DracoEliyah
Summary: Clint can't sleep, then he finds someone else who can't either.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Clint Barton
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	1. Late at night

It was early morning. Not early like ‘get up and go to work soon’ early. No, this was ‘my brain just terrified me awake with all the bad shit I’ve ever done’ early. The kind that leaves Clint gasping for air when he awakens, heart beating erratically, looking for an enemy that isn’t there. The kind that stops him from getting back to sleep even though he is exhausted from working out, team drills, and putting the fake smile on so his new family doesn’t panic and drag him back to psych, kicking and screaming. (Thanks Nat)

So, he uses his not insignificant stealth skills and heads to the communal kitchen of Stark Tower. Because doing mundane tasks actually calms him down. And he can pretend better when there are more people around, less likely to slip up. Clint gets the kettle brewing and start the process of a complicated drink that he likes. The coffee and chocolate powder mixing together perfectly with the cream. The lights are off because he’s Hawkeye for a reason, and he knows where everything is, and it would be a dead give away of someone being in here when the sun hasn’t risen yet. The floor to ceiling windows that are light and airy during daylight hours, feel slightly ominous at this time of day.

The kettle starts to whistle and he is quick to turn it off, but as he reaches for a mug he hears a slight whimper and it startles Clint enough that he drops his mug.

“Aw, mug no.” Clint mutters, Nat gave him that mug, it was an ugly, horrible and tasteless mug that Tony hated, which made him love it more.

Carefully navigating around the broken ceramic on the floor, he stays close to the kitchen counter. Heading in the direction of the noise he carefully removes one of his hidden knives and slowly makes his way to the edge of the kitchen. A large tree, too big to be called a potted plant, is blocking a person. They are wedged between the window and the tree, back against the kitchen wall. The slight silver glint on the left arm giving the person away. 

Moving slowly Clint lowers himself slowly projecting his movements. “You okay, buddy?” He asks.

A shrug is all the answer he receives. Clint moves until he is sitting opposite Barnes. “Sorry about the noise.” Clint apologises. This gets him a glance and the expression in his eyes, Clint can relate too. He looks lost and confused, still unsure of his place in the tower.”

“What has you up at ass o’clock?” Clint asks quietly, trying not to break the fragile peace of the early morning.

Barnes looks reluctant, not because he doesn’t want to answer. But because he doesn’t remember how to interact with other people anymore. “…can’t sleep” he mumbles, trying to pull himself into a small ball. 

Clint is surprised, not by the words, but the fact that he got an answer. “Yeah, I get that” Clint replies, rubbing the back of his neck. He stares at Barnes for a while, waiting to see if the other will say anything else. After a few minutes the silence starts to feel oppressive, like the monsters in their heads are prowling around them, waiting for a moment of weakness to pounce and destroy the men that carry them.

Barnes looks up quizzically at Clint.

“What?” Clint asks.

“Aren’t you going to tell me to try and sleep. That I need to rest. Need to recover and get better. That I need to move on from what happened?” Barnes asked harshly.

Clint looked at Barnes and said “No.” He lent his head against the window, looking at the tiny lights down below of the traffic they are too high up to hear. “I have people tell that to me a lot and it doesn’t help. Just makes me feel bad that I am not recovering quick enough. That I am making them worry for me.” He looks back at Barnes. “It’s why I pretend to be happier than I am.”

"That must suck" Barnes replies.

Clint just looks at him and understands. Barnes must feel the same pressure from Steve at times. With all that has happened to Barnes, he doesn't think he has been given time to just take in everything that has happened to him the last few decades. And being in a time completely different from where he grew up, it must be causing him more issues than if he was suffering just one or the other.

Clint just leans his head back looking at Barnes, and gives a not really there smile and breathes out a "Yeah." Feeling comfortable just sitting and watching someone else who was struggling and feeling a little bit less alone than he had when he woke up.


	2. A few days later...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky goes looking for Clint.

Clint was staring at his ceiling it was late. At least he thought it was, could be early. His sleep pants felt twisted but he knew, that if he tried to fix them he would have to get up and rearrange them as well as the old rangers shirt. It was a process and would no dount wake him up more and then he would be back at square one with the whole trying to get to sleep thing. His thoughts wouldn't settle enough to allow him to sleep. Random things kept popping into his head, like where do unfinished thoughts go? Do they have their own dimension? Do they flit about in sub-space looking for an active brain to finish them. Why do thughts flit? Why couldn't they flutter?  
And on and on, this continued. He knew if he looked at the time, he would only get more frustrated with his circumstances. So, he just lay here in the dark, waiting for that sweet oblivion to take him and give him the rest he so deperately needed.

The knock on his door was new tho. Wait. Clint sat up in bed, listening to the quiet tik, tik, tik, from the apartment door. He grabbed one of his military knives and slowly walked into the living space and paused mid way into the room. Tik, tik, tik. Someone was definately at this door. Keeping the knife hidden behind his back he opened the front door a crack and stared at Barnes standing on the other side. He was backlit by the soft hallway light and was holding a six-pack of beer in one hand, the other holding a large container of some kind.

"Wassup'"Clint slurred, appartently he was closer to sleeping than awake at this point.

"Couldn't sleep,"Barnes monotoned, "Thought maybe you couldn't either."

Clint blinked at him, uncomprehendingly. Then actually looked at Barnes, taking in the large sweatshirt (obviously stolen from his best friends closet), loose sweatpants, monster claw slippers and finally the deep purple smudges under his eyes.

Clint opened the door wider and motioned Barnes in with the knife. "Lucky for you, tonight's password is beer. What's in the container?"

Barnes shuffled inside and heading over to the couch replied, "Some of the cookies Steve and Bruce baked yesterday." Placing said container and the beer onto the coffee table.

"Ooh, the fancy oat ones?" Clint asked, shutting the door.

"Don't know about fancy, but they'll do" Barnes replied.

Clint walked around the back of the couch and put the knife down on the end table. He sat at the other end of the couch and grabbed a beer and one of the cookies. "Shall I put something on?" He asked with his mouth full of the treats.

Barnes shrugged and grabbed a beer, "I don't mind."

Clint grabbed the remote and put on the cartoon channel, he turned the noise level down so that the high pitched voices wouldn't grate. Barnes and Clint watched a few episodes of different shows, drinking beer and eating the cookies. During an ad break Barnes muttered out, "A few nights ago... you mentioned having to make up apperance for your friends..."

Clint hummed non-committedly, motioning with his beer for Barnes to continue.

"Would it be too much to ask what happened?" Barnes mumbled, staring fixedly at the TV.

Clint stared at the TV and finally sighed, picking at the lable of his beer. "Got brainwashed... Killed a bunch of people... You?"

Barnes took a swig of his beer and muttered, "Same"

After a few more minutes of cartoons, Clint spoke. "I tried to find out how many died, because of me. And no-one would give me an answer, which I thought was bull shit, y'know. There would be a record or some shit somewhere. But, my shrink asked me which deaths would I wanted counted. Like just the ones where I was controlled, or the ones that happened because of others that I caused. Should I consider the victims of New York as well, as I had a hand in bringing that about. And I just said, Yes, to all of it. I want to know. But then they wanted to know if it would help. If knowing how many people died would help in some way. And I said, isn't that your job?"

Barnes is listening only to Clint at this point, the TV all but forgotten. When Clint takes a pull of his beer, Barnes makes a questioning noise.

Clint looks at him, "Apparently it isn't about how many people died. Or whether I helped directly or indirectly. It was about accepting the fact that, some crazy alien dude took over my brain and got me to do his dirty work and now I feel used, y'know?" Clint asked.

Barnes stares at Clint for a bit, then slowly nods. "Steve wants me to see a shrink, to talk about the things I did. But... I don't feel comfortable, yet, talking about the things I did"

Clint smiles sadly at him, "I feel ya buddy. You want I can have a word with Steve, maybe get him to back off a bit?"

"Yeah" Barnes breathes, "that would be... I think... okay, yeah" Clint ignores the way that Barnes shakily puts his beer down and lays back against the couch, sagging into it like all the tension in him has just drained out.

Clint puts his empty beer bottle down and gets up to grab a blanket. By the time he gets back Barnes is passed out on the couch. He turns the TV off and lays the blanket carefully over Barnes. Before grabbing the knife off the end table and heading back to his own bed for the night.


	3. Steve's talk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint speaks to Steve.

Clint walked into Steve and Bucky’s apartment. “Hey guys, how goes it?”

Steve looked up from the kitchen, where he seemed to be brewing the kettle, frowning. Bucky sitting on the couch munching on some kind of nut snack, grunted in answer mouth full.  
“We are doing fine. To what do we owe to this intrusion?” Steve replied glancing suspiciously between Clint and Bucky.

Clint walked over to the kitchen counter standing on the opposite side of Steve “I was thinking we needed to have a talk Steve-o, about certain things.” Clint answered glancing meaningfully behind him at Bucky.

“That’s my que to leave” Bucky announced, jumping off the couch and darting out the door, before any reply could be given. He moved so quickly that the front door didn’t close properly behind him. Neither Clint or Steve bothered to move to shut it.

Steve looked at Clint curiously, “I’m glad that you are Bucky are becoming friends, even if he isn’t like he used to be.”

“Yeah, that’s kind of what I wanted to talk to you about.” Clint replied rubbing the back of his neck. “Ya see… Bucky’s a really nice guy. Even if he isn’t all there. As far as the rest of us are concerned, he’s as fucked up as the rest of us. But he’s not irreparably broken, just, he has some stuff to work thru. Right?”

Steve nodded, taking the kettle off the stove, “Right, that’s why SHIELD wants him to see a therapist. To help him get better.”

“Steve, you are missing the point.” Clint argued, “Bucky needs to sort thru his own thoughts first. Pushing a therapist on him will only make him clam up more. Until he’s ready, don’t mention a therapist.”

“I talked to a therapist, I went thru the same thing, and I am doing fine.” Steve argued.

“You didn’t tho, you went forward in time yes, but that’s where the similarities end. He spent years being the lap dog of your enemies. We don’t even know most of the stuff he was ordered to do. And he never had time to consider the repercussions of his actions. He just needs a bit more time to process all that shit himself, before he can talk to others about it.” Clint tried to reason.

“But I want to help him get better.” Steve not quite whined.

“I get that, but maybe start by taking him to one of Sam’s veteran meetings. He can listen to others war stories… it may help him to hear about how others are coping from their time in the forces, maybe make him feel less alone.” Clint explained calmly.

Steve thought on what Clint had said whilst he poured 3 cups of tea, Clint gave him the time quietly watching Steve’s processes. “I just want my old Bucky back.” Steve whispered.

Clint gave him a pitying look. “Steve, buddy, your Bucky died back in the war. The guy your living with is more like Bucky’s retarded cousin.”

A quiet ‘hey’ was heard from the hall.

Louder Clint added, “Uglier too, and he smells.”

Steve huffed a laugh as he gave in, “Alright fine, alright. I’ll talk to Sam about a group meeting. Tea’s ready.” He called out the last bit, Bucky slowly made his way back into the apartment, looking down the hallway with a shrug as he shut the door and made his way over to the other men in the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> Just starting out on writing fanfic again. I may be a bit slow on updates as I have vision impairments.


End file.
